Everybody Loves Edmund
by Avonlea Inspirations
Summary: A series of drabblish oneshots focusing on Edmund's interaction with his siblings.
1. Peter

**AN: **A series of drabbleish oneshots focusing on Edmund's interaction with his siblings.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

* * *

It was raining. No, it was pouring, and a certain dark haired youth was decidedly bored.

"Stupid Peter," the youth muttered, laying his head on his bent arms. "Stupid Peter and his stupid overbearing, protective complex."

"Tch," said Peter, from the opposite end of the room, shaking his head and smiling a barely perceptible smile, "I'm not the one with the broken leg and the arrow wound."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Peter flexed his leg with a grin. "Being of sound body and mind, I'm completely capable of holding you in here -- with force."

"I'm of sound mind!"

"But not of body," said Peter calmly, sitting beside his brother. "Trust me, Edmund, when I say that you are not going to stir from this room for another week, at best."

"You're not my keeper!"

Pout. Glare.

"No," said Peter, slowly, "I'm your brother." He smiled again and ruffled the younger boy's short hair. "And brothers have the distinct advantage of being able to boss their siblings. Especially older brothers," he added, thoughtfully.

Edmund rolled his eyes and swatted his brother as hard as he could on the arm. "Well, go boss Lucy, then. Or Su."

"They're not sick."

"Well, neither am I," snapped Edmund, crossing his arms childishly.

"Ha. I suppose next you're going to say that you're not running a fever."

"I'm not," said Edmund, quickly.

Peter frowned suspiciously and placed a calloused hand to his brother's forehead, ignoring the smaller boy's protests as he did so.

"Edmund," he growled, "you're burning up." He removed his hand and leant forward, trying to catch his brother's eye.

"It's warm in here."

"No. It's freezing."

"How would you know? You've got some inner body temperature thing that makes you... I don't know... immune to temperature."

"Lie down."

"What! No! I'm fine, Peter. Don't be such a worry wart."

"I'm going to call Susan."

"You wouldn't," gasped Edmund, knowing full well that while Peter was still open to debate, Susan would leave no room for argument. Besides, what louse hit a girl?

"Are you willing to gamble?"

Grumbling indignantly, Edmund crawled under the covers and lay perfectly still, his arms stiffly by his side and his eyes narrowed. The only sounds in the room were of Peter drawing the heavy curtains, and of Edmund gnashing his teeth.

"Now, go to sleep, Edmund," said Peter, smiling amiably. "I'll send the healers in when you're more rested."

"I'm not a baby, Peter," remarked Edmund, smirking in the semidarkness. "I can take care of myself."

"Says the boy with the arrow wound, broken leg, and fever," said Peter sceptically. "Good night, Ed."

"Tisn't night," snorted Edmund, trying to ignore the urge to close his eyes.

The sounds of scraping filled the room, as Peter dragged a low armchair closer to his brother's bed. "No, it's not night," he said softly, "but it's close enough, and I'm going to stay here until I'm sure you're asleep."

"Who's going to guard the Kingdom?"

"From what? The increasing paperwork?"

Edmund snorted again and snuggled deeper into the soft blankets. Maybe if he closed his eyes, just for a minute, Peter would be tricked into thinking he was asleep.

Just for a minute.

Or, maybe two.

The sounds of snoring filled the room, as Edmund succumbed to the tiredness that usual resulted from injury and arguing with his brother.

Peter sat in the darkened room, his head cradled gently in his hand, and a fond smile on his lips, watching the rise and fall of his brother's chest as the young lad slept. Poor Edmund was exhausted, Peter realised, and the thought made his brow crease and a familiar feeling of guilt settle in the pit of his stomach.

"Ed," he groaned softly. "Always trying to be the hero. Never thinking of yourself."

A gentle snore reached his ears, and to Peter's tired state of mind, it sounded as though he were laughing.

"Aw, shut up," the High King murmured, slouching into the armchair and hanging his legs over the side. "You know it's true."

Twin snores, in perfect harmony, echoed through the room as older and younger brother slept.

Life, at that moment, was as peaceful as it could get.


	2. Susan

**AN: **A series of drabbleish oneshots focusing on Edmund's interaction with his siblings.

My thanks go to all the lovely reviewers of this and my other stories. Unfortunately, due to personal circumstances, I won't be able to reply to each review and extend my gratitude. Know, however, that each review is read and cherished, and encourages me more then anything else to continue writing. Thank you. ^^

My thanks go especially to Shizuku Tsukishima749 and Corianne, who have faithfully reviewed all my stories. Thank you, it is greatly appreciated. :)

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

* * *

"Ed, how do I look?"

Edmund Pevensie, fifteen years of age, former monarch of talking animals and current "fashion critic", walked around his posing sister with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. He was a perfect specimen of concentration.

"To be honest, Su --"

"Take your time, Edmund. I want a thorough and unbiased opinion."

A second trot around, an even more furrowed brow, and lips in a thin, hard line.

"Susan, I --"

"Thorough."

Edmund sighed, threw his hands rather dramatically in the air, and trudged heavily around his sister.

"Are you going to interrupt me again, Susan, if I tell you now?" he asked, when he was once more facing her.

"Have you looked at it closely enough?"

"My eyes are burning."

"Ha. Ha." said Susan sarcastically. "Very well, what do you think?"

"I think that if you fluffed the skirt out more, added a few more feathers, and added even more height to your heels, you'd be very passable --"

"Oh! Good!"

"For a deranged, half drunk specimen of the poultry species."

Two seconds later, a draggled feather boa sailed through the air, followed closely by one high-heeled shoe and a surprisingly heavy handbag. All objects were aimed at the head of a fortunately nimble fashion critic.

"Why are you mad at me, Su?" Edmund asked pertly, darting up the stairs with all the speed he could channel into his heels. "You know that I'm known for always telling the truth!"

Needless to say, Susan did not attend her party that day. No, she was too occupied hunting down a certain dark-haired king who was, fortunately, very good at hiding.

Unfortunately for him, however, Susan excelled at finding.

And find him she did.


	3. Peter, Susan, and Ed

**AN:** This was originally written to be the start of a chapter of "Human Failings"; but, upon revision, the tone was too light-hearted. So, I hope you enjoy this bonus Peter and Edmund drabble, with a connected Peter and Susan drabble. Reviews are loved. ^^

Set soon after they return from Narnia. Yeah, their royal ways wore off rather quickly. ;) Book-verse with a vein of Movie-verse.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, sorry. I still don't own this or any other franchise and book.

* * *

"Edmund, how many times have I told you not to touch my train set?"

The two brothers stood in the room they shared; one gesticulated wildly, while the other stood stoically with arms crossed over his chest. A look of bored indifference was painted on the latter's face, as he cast a casual glance to what remained of his brother's toy.

"I thought you were too old for trains, Peter," he remarked.

"Too old? What has that got to do with anything? You smashed it in with the sword you got from that suit of armour _accidentally_!"

"I was practising my broadsword," Edmund said conversationally. "And yes, you are too old. I mean, you're what? Thirty years?"

"Twenty-eight years, Edmund," the older boy hissed.

"Oh, and that makes it so much better."

"I have my reasons..."

"I'd love to hear them."

Peter pondered momentarily, before blurting out, "Well, technically I'm only thirteen years old... here."

No verbal response, only a quirked eyebrow.

"Besides... I like trains."

A rolling of the eyes seemed to be the favoured gesture, now.

"Ah, shut up."

And with this, Peter stormed from the room.

Edmund was left rather perplexed. How could one be shut up if they didn't say anything?

* * *

Susan was lounging on the living room couch, when a frustrated Peter made his appearance. She rolled onto her back and gave him an appraising glance.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up.

"Edmund," Peter growled, "he doesn't think that I'm young enough to play with my train set. Like that's an excuse to ruin it!"

"Well, Peter," said Susan, reaching for a large, leather bound dictionary which was conveniently within reaching distance, "he may have a point."

Peter frowned. He should have known that Susan would be on Edmund's side in the "to grow up or to not grow up" debate.

He never had liked politics.

Seeing that her brother was still in a rather bad mood, Susan opened up the dictionary, and positioned it carefully upon her knees.

"I know what will cheer you up, Peter," she chirped, "why don't you tell me the meaning and origin of the word "**sesquipedalian**_"? _

Contrary to Susan's hope, listening to a list of long, rarely used words did nothing to appease her brother's temper.


	4. Lucy

AN: Thank you so, so much to the people who reviewed the last chapter. I received eight reviews and am so very grateful to the people who took the time to tell me their opinion.

Disclaimer: I own many things. A bear pillow, a glass-encased clock, two pairs of stockings with a ladder in each... I do not, however, own the Chronicles.

* * *

"Edmund, pass me that knife."

Edmund sat up from his reclining position on the sofa and gave his little sister a dubious look.

"Lucy," he said, brushing his tousled hair into submission with his free hand, "we're not in Narnia any more. Why do you want a knife?"

"A butter knife, Edmund," said Lucy patiently. "You were lying on the handle. I have to put it in the dish rack."

"Oh," said eloquent Edmund, blushing pink and fishing the knife out from amongst the sofa cushions, "here you go."

Lucy smiled, curtseyed gently and took the knife from her brother's outstretched hand. She retreated to the kitchen, and placed the knife in its proper place.

"Edmund," she said, coming into the living room, "if I had asked for, say, your pocket knife, would you have given it to me?"

"Nope."

"But why, Edmund? I wouldn't have hurt myself."

"Not the point, Lu. You're so young here. Even though your mind remembers you as quite the little warrior --- stop blushing, Lu, you know it's true -- you're body isn't capable of keeping up. You're too little."

"Edmund, be that as it may, I'm not ten, no matter how much I may look it. I can handle the knife. My goodness, Ed, it's not like I'm going to go out and kill a Calorman with it."

"Ha, though you may try," smiled Edmund, tousling her hair. "The real reason, I suppose, is that Peter and I are so used to removing the dangers you face. From suitors to assassins, as you know. I'm sorry if we come across as overbearing, Lu, but you must see that after so many years, it's a difficult habit to break."

"I know, Ed, and I'm grateful," smiled Lucy in return, sitting beside her brother on the sofa, "but please tell me that you won't jump to my rescue every time you see a butter knife!"

"No, I won't Lu," laughed Edmund, "but I can't say the same if I see a fork."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," smiled Lucy, with mock seriousness, "now come help me do the dishes."

"What?"

"You said any danger, Edmund," said Lucy soberly, trying to keep the glint from her eyes, "and right now I'm feeling very threatened by the amount of crockery in the dish rack."

Edmund grinned good-naturedly and got to his feet. After all, it's always a good idea to keep to your promises.

"I'm washing, Lu."

And who could pass up an opportunity to shower a certain queen with suds?

Edmund, not being in a noble mood, was not about to let the opportunity pass.


End file.
